Mother Knows Best
by write-love-latte
Summary: Molly Weasley muses after her littlest and the satisfying revelation that her last child and only daughter was 'the one'. DMGW, Oneshot R


Mother Knows Best

From the moment she had been born, on October 2nd at 1:03 AM, after approximately 72 hours of long, painful labor, Molly Weasley knew. Her only daughter, lying within her arms, rubbed pink by her overly happy father and the eager young midwitch; with the flashing green eyes, both soft and stinging ('like the delicate coating of a soft moss on rocks,' she thought poetically, while peering down) and a fair head of lightish blonde baby hair--Molly Weasley knew, and made sure to include her own name in the baby's.

Listening to her cry in the middle of the night and entering the attic room, right next to a chubby Ron's, to see her wiggle and smile in sudden mirth (strange that one could be so happy after awakening an exhausted mother at the deepest time of the night); listening to her giggle as her father sang old wizarding songs while flying her around the family room--she was not only a Daddy's Girl, but she was the one.

Watching her, in her fevered toddler-ish glee, unravel every roll of toilet paper in the house, somehow figuring that it would be needed in the kitchen after she flung every carton of orange juice at an ever-slumbering Ron; cursing after her in an attempt to shield her floating form from Muggle eyes, as the child discovered the wonders of little magic and used it to outsmart her ever greying, forever plumpening mother.

As a child, she grew quiet (and for this Molly Weasley was grateful), but came under the fond tutorage of her mischevious older brothers Fred and George. Every time they were home for Christmas, she would run to the front porch, and greet them with a smile so wicked Molly wondered how she could ever have made a child so plotting. Those winters the house would abruptly find itself glowing a variety of colors (a beacon for Santa Claus, she would exclaim as her forceful explanation, Fred and George backing her up as if they knew), or Ron would somehow turn into a large, walking berry (simply because he is a walking berry at heart, she would say, solemnly); and Molly and Arthur would wipe their brows in frustration and a tinse of suppressed pride--because their littlest was the one.

When she went off to Hogwarts, the house was empty, but Molly Weasley knew her red-haired daughter would bring home her destiny.

Because Ginevra Molly Weasley (as Molly had insisted be her name) was the one who would just about be the end of the Malfoy fortune--since Molly was the one who had birthed her, she figured she might as well share in the fame. 'After all,' she thought, 'Mother knows best.'

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The Christmas of her sixth year, Molly Weasley welcomed a slightly sour-faced young Malfoy into her home, and bore the introductions with a smile. The boy was slender and tall, with a gloryful mass of white-blonde hair slicked back with what seemed to be every gel import in half of Britain and Scotland--frankly, she liked him, and was indebted to feel a bit sorry for him on the couple's wedding day, which happened about five years later.

It was a beautiful day, all sunshine and smiles--Molly fancied she'd never seen Ginny or Draco look so happy, or cried so many tears. The wedding itself was extravagant, Ginny had insisted a traditional one with all the trimmings, each detail pink and proper right down to the last faery bell dotting the rose shrubs. Draco had scowled a bit at the abundance of pink, and the way those, 'damn flowers seem to jump out like they're going to kill you,' but at Ginny's glow of utter happiness and satisfaction had speedily reigned in his temper.

They had been married maybe two years, during which time Ginny had redecorated the Malfoy Manor to her liking at least once a season, every season, when the Weasley curse of fertility struck. After nine months of a grumpy, fussy and hormonal Ginny waking up and demanding assorted flavors of ice cream in the middle of the night, Draco beamed pride at the birth of his son, a rather round and plum, in Ginny's words, 'bundle of poop'. They lived happily, and with Ginny's normal and almost routine splurging of galleons on her son's, husband's and her own clothing and bedroom decor, for around eighteen months before the curse struck again.

Somehow, Draco managed, juggling work, a muggle-food hungry taco-craving wife and a Terrible Toddler all at once--when his second son was born, he glowed happily, if not a little less due to the bags under his eyes and the considerable gaps in his bank account.

So again the routine started, and just when Draco thought his family was complete and staying that way, room had to be made again as yet another Weasley-Malfoy combination popped out, rather noisily, this time a shining baby girl.

And so it started...

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Molly smiled, surrounded in the hallway by her five grandchildren, as her daughter gave birth in the room parallel. She ruffled their hair, and stroked the cheeks of those asleep, as Ginny moaned and groaned, and Draco whined about how she was breaking his hand with her grip. Finally her sixth grandchild (via Ginny of course, she had lost count of the lot on a whole), burst forth into the world with a lively cry that had Draco crying relief, and Molly laughing with mirth.

When she was allowed in, Ginny smiled proudly, showing to her the newest product of her marriage to Malfoy, who now lay tiredly against the doorframe. "It's a girl," she said softly, handing the sleeping child to her mother, "Now I have two!"

Molly heard Draco's sigh of anguish, "You're going to be the end of me!" he said, frustrated but evidently happy.

Ginny beamed, "The end of the Malfoy fortune--it's my destiny!"

Molly laughed as Draco banged his head against the wall, all the while surrounded by the voices of his small clan of children.

She grinned, looking down into the green eyes ('like the delicate coating of a soft moss on rocks,' she remembered joyfully) of her newest granddaughter. She nuzzled the baby affectionately, gently whispering in her ear, "Mother knows best."

**Author's Note: Felt like writing this, so I did! It's not all that great, I acknowledge, but I like it just fine! Read and Review, please and thank you!**


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